Yours
by AWanderingSoulSometimesLost
Summary: "When he gazes into lady Aurora's eyes, he is hopelessly lost." I don't own anything.
1. Please, Don't Be Afraid

"Get up."

The command is followed by another violent kick. Once again, it lands on his ribs, making him wince. He can't take a breath without burning pain tearing his chest apart, yet breathe he must. He bites his lip to prevent himself from whimpering and stares at the darkness behind his eyelids, already wet from tears that have against his will formed in his eyes.

"Get up, or I'll gut you where you lie." Lord Tristan's cold voice, deprived of any care or compassion, threatens forcefully.

They are around the same age, the young lord having entered his seventeenth year less than two moons ago. He is very much like his father in cruelty and vindictiveness, but more cunning than the old drunkard. He knows he cannot be harmed, not here at the heart of de Martel estate, and he never hesitates to use that to his advantage.

Lucien takes hold of the hilt of his sword again and runs the blade into dirt, using it to help himself onto his knees. He wishes that a cherry tree nearby was just a bit closer so he could use it as a support, but it is, like everything else in life, out of his reach. He fights his tired and broken body, trying to make it straighten up, but his legs remain numb, as do his arms, and he is left helpless at the mercy of a merciless man.

When he finally finds the strength to raise his head and meets Tristan's blue eyes, his sight blurs and his head starts to spin. The contents of his stomach reach his throat; he barely swallows them down at the cost of having his own broken ribs run into the flesh of his chest. Pain tears its way through him wild and fast like lighting. He barely manages to keep his balance, holding tightly onto the sword as if it is the last remaining thread that ties him to life.

"Get on your feet right now or I'll…"

"Tristan!"

A voice calls the young lord's name. A voice Lucien cannot remember having heard before in the few months he has spent in de Martel home. Young and light-hearted – the voice of an angel. What is an angel doing in a house filled with demons? Has she come to free him from this miserable life?

He wills his eyes to open, waiting for another treacherous wave of pain to grip his body. It never comes. God grants him this small mercy and allows him to behold the sight in front of him – to behold _her_.

He watches wide-eyed as Tristan hugs a young girl – a year or two younger than himself – and even the merciless and cruel Tristan de Martel looks a kind and selfless man as his arms curl around the girl's back, pulling her closer.

Her hair, red as cherries (and surely of a scent just as sweet) that swing on the branchees above their heads, falls down her back in long soft locks, dancing about her as Tristan lifts her off the ground and spins around in an embrace so devoted and loving Lucien can scarcely believe it is the same man who was beating him senseless just a few moments ago. Her skin is the colour of an early spring's morning, when one can still feel the chilling touch of a winter's night, but her cheeks flush as she laughs in Tristan's arms. Her eyes are green fields in early summer, with a touch of golden rays of the sun reflected in them.

Is this Tristan's betrothed? After all, the young lord is coming to an age when he is supposed to start looking for a possible bride. If this girl is indeed the future Lady de Martel, then this world is a crueller place than Lucien has ever known. Tristan, who has everything and takes it all for granted, will receive yet another piece of heaven, while Lucien will always remain a poor servant in a household that makes hell seem like a lovable, warm home.

Still, there is no time to think about the unfairness of life as his eyes fall onto the lady's face once again. What would he give for one gaze in return, to bathe in the light of two suns that are her eyes…

For the briefest of moments, their gazes collide.

He looks away instantly, ashamed of being covered in dirt, weak and pathetic before this angel. He wishes he could stand up and place a tender kiss on her delicate hand, but he barely has the strength to keep himself on his knees. His heart pounds wildly against his ribcage, as if she has come on her invisible wings to deliver his judgement and he is outrageously unprepared.

"Aurora, what are you…"

He senses her touch before he hears her voice.

"Are you hurt?" she asks softly, her quiet tone besting Tristan's loud demand in Lucien's ears.

He knows he shouldn't, but he dares still. His eyes find hers – worried and kind.

He cannot think of an answer for the life of him. Not while she is staring at him as if he is the only thing that matters in this world right now, care and concern filling her lovely features. Never has anyone in this castle looked at him that way, as if he is worth of compassion, of care, of _love_.

"Tristan, he is unwell." She looks at the young lord, who is all but pleased with this development. "Look how pale he is. We must help him."

"He is but a servant, and not a good one." Tristan remarks cruelly, approaching them in a way that reminds Lucien of a cat hunting its prey. "Come, Aurora. We must return. You are not well enough yet to stay in the open for long."

"No!" she avoids his hand when he reaches for hers. She stands up and even though she is at least a head shorter than Tristan, there is a fire burning bright in her eyes that makes even the young lord de Martel back away. "I am not going anywhere until his wounds are tended to properly. If it means I have to spend a night in the open, then so be it."

"Be rational, Aurora." Tristan's eyes darken, but he does not reach for her again. "Your welfare is much more important than his. Leave him here. I'll send someone to take him to the healer's room."

Lucien holds his breath, fully aware his fate rests in lady Aurora's gentle hands. It is highly doubtful Tristan will send anyone to look for him once they disappear behind the walls of de Martel home and he has no strength to return on his own. He will remain here through the night, an easy prey for the chill and any beast that hunts under the stars. He swallows hard in terror, sensing his hand shiver around the hilt.

"You go fetch a servant." He hears Aurora say. "I will stay here and look after him until your return."

His heart beats faster still, but instead of fear, it is joy that now courses through his veins. He can barely believe his own ears. If death should take him now, he would die a happy man.

"You can't stay here with him _alone_." Tristan argues fiercely, snarling the last word like a curse.

"And why not? He cannot harm me; he can barely stand."

A long silence lingers between them as Tristan tries to come up with an excuse.

"It is not proper." He says at last, his tone cold and firm. "It is not your place as our father's daughter to take care of lowly servants."

"It is my place as _me_ to take care of anyone in need of help." Aurora retorts sharply, using the same cold tone. "I will not leave his side until I see that through."

"Aurora, you can catch a cold…"

"If you value my welfare so much, my brother," she interrupts him steadily, yet with strength to her words no-one can deny, "You will run as fast as your legs can carry you and bring the healer here."

Another silence emerges, even longer than the last one. Lucien does not dare even to breathe, afraid one breath – one heartbeat – might cost him more than he could bare to lose. He would do anything to keep the lady Aurora by his side, even fall into darkness of unconsciousness if need be.

He hears sounds of steps approaching him. A single moment after a pair of black boots enters his vision, he senses cold kiss of a blade on his throat, forcing him to raise his head.

"If a single hair falls off my sister's head while I'm gone," Tristan's eyes are ice, both in coldness and colour, "I will make you suffer so much you'll beg for death to take you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord." Lucien breathes, but not too deeply, wary of the blade that is still lying on his pulse.

After another moment, he can no longer feel the touch of Tristan's blade. A breath of relief escapes his lips, but at the same time his knees give in beneath him. The pain is back in his chest as his body meets the ground and he lets out a cry.

A pair of hands catches his shoulders a split of a second before his face can meet the dirt. Then they move onto his head and place it gently on something soft.

It takes a moment for him to realize in absolute horror and purest delight that his right cheek is pressed against her lap.

"Please forgive my brother." she says softly before he can utter a word. "Our father is not the best teacher in the ways of kindness and compassion."

For her, he would forgive the devil all of his sins, but he knows better than to speak to her so bluntly. He should not…

Her hand caresses his forehead, removing a few locks of his hear from his face one by one, as if it is a game she alone understands. He can feel his skin tingle in places where it was touched by hers.

"Lady Aurora…" he starts in protesting tone, but pain chokes the words in his throat.

"Hush now. Do not tire yourself out." It is a kind command, but a command nonetheless.

He cannot argue with lady de Martel any more than he can argue with an angel (it happens so that she is one and the same), so he falls silent and closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy her touches and drifting into thoughts.

 _She is still very ill. Poor girl. It is a true injustice that someone as lively and joyful as her is tied to a bed day and night. A girl of her age and beauty should be singing and dancing all day long._

 _Her maids say she is as pale as a ghost, as if her blood stopped running through her veins. Her eyes spark no more. She doesn't eat, she barely sleeps. How long can she last?_

 _I haven't seen the young lord smile since his sister fell ill. It is as if his heart turns darker with each day she remains sick. He loves no-one like he loves her._

So this is the mysterious sister of Tristan's he has heard so much about. Servants' whisperings were nothing if not completely lacking details. They spoke nothing of her true beauty, of her kind heart, of her feisty mind. He never even got to hear her name.

Aurora.

"Yes?"

He stiffens. Did he just utter her name out loud?

"Forgive me, my lady." He feels a drop of cold sweat fall down his forehead as he tries to mutter an apology. "I… I…"

"What do I have to forgive?" she asks lightly. "It is my name. What is yours?"

He knows he should argue her intentional overlooking of his disrespectful use of her given name, but he has no strength nor will to do it.

"It is Lucien, my lady." he answers with hope. Hardly anyone ever asks for his name. They have other names for him in de Martel household, none really flattering.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucien." Aurora says.

And she means it. He might not see her smile, but he can _hear_ it.

"You are new here?" she keeps inquiring, making his heart skip a beat. What about him could possibly have sparked her interest?

 _She is just being kind. It is not as if she actually cares for me._ He rebukes his way too optimistic heart.

"I do not remember seeing you before."

"I came here three moons ago." He admits, though unwillingly, because he feels he will soon have to mention the debt his father owes to hers, thus lowering himself even more in her eyes.

"I was ill for almost as long." Her voice falters and he can sense her shiver slightly, as if speaking of her illness still makes her uneasy. "That must be why we haven't met before."

"I am grateful that we met today." he confesses. "Had you not arrived, I think your brother would have…"

He hesitates, fearing she might find his honesty offensive. After all, Tristan is her family and his master. He does not have the right to cast a bad light on him, especially not in front of her.

"Tristan is my brother and I do love him, but I am not blind to his faults, as he is not to mine." Her voice reaches his ears, calm and gentle. She does not hold his words against him and for that he is thankful. "I also wish he were not so cold and cruel to others. I do not wish him to turn into our father."

 _I fear it is too late for that, my lady._ He knows better than to say that out loud. Who is he to destroy her hope that her brother could still turn out a decent man?

"Is he also cruel to _you_?" He dares to wonder. "Your father?"

"Sometimes." She nods solemnly, but does not elaborate.

He cannot blame her for refusing to speak of Lord de Martel, even if he is her father. Lucien's own father gave his all to pay his debts to Lord de Martel, but in the end it was not enough. Lucien, as his father's only son, was forced into servitude to de Martel family until he paid off his family's debt. Sometimes it seems that ten lifetimes of servitude would not please Lord de Martel's greed, so Lucien has already accepted that his fate is forever bound to this household. If only the circumstances were different and his bond to de Martel family that of marriage…

"But when you marry, you will be free of him." he says in attempt to raise her spirits, though the thought of her being tied to someone else for life… pains him. More deeply than it should.

She laughs, a sad, mirthless laugh.

"I do not possess your bravery to hope for a kind, loving husband for myself, Lucien." The sorrow in her voice could make heavens cry. "Every nobleman I have ever met is a drunkard or a tyrant or both. They love their money and their wine far more than their wives. If they have children, it is only sons that matter to them. And if a wife fails to give birth to a son… she is forever held in disgrace."

He cannot deny the truth in her words. The noblemen are indeed beasts masquerading as humans, evil as they are rich. It is unfair that they get to live a life of luxury and leisure, while good men, like Lucien's father, fight every day for bare survival and kind women like Aurora are treated like breeding mares that are thrown away the moment they run out of their use.

"Were you mine, I would never lay a hand on you." he swears passionately, fire burning in his blood. "I would give you the world if you asked me for it. If you gave me a child, I would love it because it would be yours."

His fervent ramblings rob him of every last bit of strength, his defences falling before the cold embrace of darkness. He feels his own consciousness slipping through his numb fingers like sand – or maybe it is his life?

In the last moment of awareness, he feels cold. As if sun has removed its warm hands off him and left him to die.

* * *

"He may never wake up, Aurora. Why do you even care? He is just a servant."

"It does not mean his life is worthless, Tristan. Besides, nobody is forcing _you_ to be here."

" _You_ are forcing me. I will not leave you alone with another man again."

"I was alone with him before and he was nothing but kind to me."

"Why do you think that was? He wanted to get into your good graces so he could rise in station."

"Not everyone has a secret agenda, brother. Besides, even if he turns out to be all the worst you assume of him, I can always call for help. My maids will wait for me right outside the room and they will send for you if anything goes wrong."

"That's not good enough for me. God knows what he could do to you by the time I arrive here."

"Why do you think he will do _anything_ to me? You know nothing of him."

"And you do? You just met him."

Silence.

"Leave me be, Tristan. My decision has been made."

"Aurora…"

" _Leave._ "

A sound of grudging steps leaving the room and of door closing echoes in Lucien's ears. He wishes to open his eyes, to finally see the light again, but his eyelids still feel too heavy. Instead he settles for taking a deep breath that smells of _life_ , but halts in his motions the moment he feels _it_.

Up and down, again and again, fingers brush against his cheek, warm and soft like feathers. His breath catches as the memory of the conversation he just unintentionally witnessed comes back to his mind.

He does not dare to believe. It cannot be true. His mind has been lost in the darkness and what is left of it is now toying with him. Or he was dreaming.

Nonetheless, he must know; _he must_.

His eyes snap open in hope, disbelief, desperation – he can't name it himself.

When he gazes into lady Aurora's eyes, he is hopelessly lost.

She stops caressing his face abruptly, as if he has burned her, and he shivers, coldness descending on him again.

"Lucien." Her eyes look black instead of green, his sudden wakening having obviously taken her completely off guard. "You are awake."

It takes a few moments for both of their breathings to calm down. Lucien has no idea what to think, let alone what to say. She could be anywhere else at this moment, yet she is here with him. His heart might just burst from the emotions that are overwhelming him; gratitude, admiration, awe and… something more.

"How are you feeling?" she asks at last, her lips forming a gentle smile.

"I…" he still can't utter a single sentence that would make sense. His body feels weak and numb, his throat sore, his chest hurting, but his mind has never felt more alive. "How long have I…"

"It's been a day and a half since we last spoke." She supplies the answer he asked for, but with a flush to her cheeks that seems very uncharacteristic for her. It wasn't there when she argued with her brother, why would it be there now?

He forces his mind to remember what occurred between them. It takes a few moments, but then his words of two days ago come back to him and he swallows hard again, wishing he had enough common sense to keep his mouth shut in her presence.

"Forgive me, my lady, I didn't mean to…"

"Again, there is nothing for me to forgive." she interrupts him gently. Her hands return to his face and he feels warm again. "Those were beautiful things to hear, Lucien. How could I scorn them?"

Without really intending to, he leans into her touch, relishing in its softness. If it were in his power to stop the time, to freeze the world in this moment, he would do so in a heartbeat.

"My lady, I…"

"Aurora." she says adamantly. "When there is no-one there but us, you must call me Aurora."

He wishes he could do so freely, but he knows it is not possible.

"Lord Tristan…"

"My brother must be kept in the dark, for your safety." She nods sombrely, but doesn't separate her hand from his face. "I know he only wishes to protect me, but he does not see that you are pure of heart."

He does not know what to say to that. She speaks of him as it is he who is an angel. Her eyes are stars in moonless night, fighting to shine brighter than the other. Her lips are blood – red and dark and _alive_ – and he would give anything just to taste them, just to feel them on his…

"My lady, your father…"

They are interrupted by an older woman's voice. Lucien's eyes break away from Aurora's to look at the woman standing at the door. She stares at them with her eyes and mouth wide open, as if beholding a great scandal.

Only then does it dawn on him that this is a scandal of proportions so great he might be drawn and quartered to atone for it. His heart starts beating faster again, his breath chocking any explanation he might have had.

"He seems a bit feverish to me." Aurora says in an even tone, finally separating her hand from his face, and turns to her maid. "Maria, send someone to fetch the healer."

The maid named Maria looks completely taken aback by her mistress' request, even more so than she did when she caught them in an inappropriately close proximity.

"My lady, I…"

"My other maids will escort me to my father." Aurora stands up from the edge of his bed gracefully and approaches the woman calmly, as if nothing unusual has occurred. "I assume that is what you wanted to tell me?"

The woman stares in a baffled silence for a few more moments, but then bows her head and nods.

"Yes, my lady. Your father insists that you speak to him."

"I shall do so at once." Aurora nods briefly, before grabbing the skirts of her red gown and leaving the room without as much as a glance at Lucien. He hears her speaking to her maids: "Come. We must not keep my father waiting."

When she is out of his sight, it seems as if sun's light that is coming through the window does not shine as bright anymore. He wishes to jump onto his feet and follow her, wherever she goes. But his body is still aching and without her healing presence, he is but a man with a few broken ribs. A man who was given hope that is quickly diminishing into dust.

"Lady Aurora was very worried for you." Lucien's gaze turns to the grey-haired old woman, who has still not left the room, but is now eyeing him suspiciously. "I have never seen her so determined to see that someone is nursed back to health through."

"Lady Aurora is the kindest of souls." Lucien forces a smile on his face, hiding his disdain for Maria far better than she masks hers for him. "I am forever grateful that she has decided to bestow her kindness upon me."

"She is kind indeed," Maria's eyes narrow even more at him, as if she thinks he is mocking her, "But not everyone's misfortune is her burden to bear, especially not of those who seek to use the goodness of her heart for their own gain."

Implications of her words infuriate Lucien far beyond any injustice Tristan has ever done to him. To suggest that he would betray lady Aurora's trust in such a horrendous way after everything she did for him? The nerve of her.

"It is a foul world indeed if the simplest kindness is frowned upon." he says coldly.

She is left speechless by his words and turns around to leave the room. He smirks inwardly, but shows no sign of gloating. To preserve lady Aurora's reputation and his own life, he must pretend nothing has happened between them. There must be no doubt of her innocence. He would never forgive himself if her chances for happiness, however small she might think them to be, were ruined by his hand or his misplaced affections. Besides, he might have misinterpreted her earlier intentions. To think he is deserving of love of her – the nerve of _him_ indeed. He is still just a servant and she is a highborn lady. What could she possibly feel for someone so below her but compassion and pity?

"I know you think me a cruel man who would steal her heart and crush it in his hands if it suited him so," he calls out to Maria, who turns to him just as abruptly as she turned away from him a moment ago. Her eyes are spread in surprise, as if she did not expect such sincerity from him after that duel of ambiguous insults they had led. "But I would have to be Lucifer reincarnated if I returned her kindness with treachery and scheming. You cannot possibly believe me to be the devil himself."

Maria stares at him judgingly for a few silent moments, estimating him. He does not take his eyes off hers for a second, determined to prove his words and heart are true.

"I do not think you the devil." she says at last, her features softening a bit. "But I worry for my lady's safety. I do not wish to see her hurt."

"It is a sentiment we share." He nods solemnly.

"Then stay away from her." Her voice is quick to return to its previous firmness, but there is no chilliness in it now. "Do not make it any harder on either her or yourself than it already is. Let her go before it is too late. She will never be yours. She cannot be."

Without halting to wait for an answer, she leaves the room like her mistress, without looking back, only this time he doesn't care. He is too busy wrapping his mind about her parting words.

She saw right through him and his wordplays. She knows of affections he holds for the lady Aurora. How long until his mask falls off again, maybe – God forbid it – in front of Tristan?

Those feelings should not even be there; why, he only met her two days ago. How can it pain him so much to know she can never be his? Will she haunt him until the end of his days? Will she ever give his heart back to him or is he doomed to this hopeless love forever?

 _Love? It cannot be love, can it?_ On the outside, he is as still as a statue, but on the inside, his reason wages war with his heart and the outcome is absolutely unpredictable. _Even if it is, it might fade in time. And even if it doesn't, it won't torment me forever. I do not think I could bare that misfortune for that long. Thank God we don't live forever._

 **This started as an idea of how Lucien and Aurora first met, but after 3x18, I think it'll turn into a fix-it fic, because I was absolutely enraged when the show destroyed yet another couple that I wanted really badly to be happy together (I'd been stuck between Klaurora and Aurora/Lucien (Lurora?) since the beginning, but when Klaurora was ruined, Lucien/Aurora bench scene in 3x09 gave me hope that they could have their chance. But nope). In my opinion, it felt like the writers wanted to get rid of Aurora and shut her fans up by making her a total bitch in 3x18, but I'll always love her. Anyway, at the moment, my plans are to make this a three-shot, but if inspiration strikes, maybe there will be more, because these two deserve it.**

 **Untill the next time :)**


	2. When the Darkness Fades Away

**Here is part two :) I hope you'll like it :)**

Death is coming.

In a moment or so, it will claim him again.

It matters not. Death has long since become one of his closest friends. He can scarcely remember any words but _death_ , _darkness_ and _silence_.

And _Aurora_. He must not forget _Aurora_. Even if he doesn't know what it means anymore. He clings desperately onto the word, because as long as it remains carved into his memories, there is… (if only he could remember) … _hope_?

The world has not moved for so long (does it even move at all?).

Yet now it seems as if it is shaking (or maybe it is his imagination's doing?). After countless lifespans in the darkness, has he finally lost his mind?

It doesn't really matter, for there is no time.

 _Aurora._

In the next moment, he dies again.

* * *

His first thought after he comes back to life is: _light_.

Even in the darkness behind his eyelids, he _feels_ it. White and warm – it reminds him of something so very distant – _a smile_?

He cannot remember. He can barely believe.

No more darkness. No more water.

He is so surprised by the fact he _can_ breathe that he _can't_ breathe. After so much time spent in the cold embrace of the ocean, dancing between life and death, he remembers not what it is like to taste sweet air, to take a breath without suffocating in it. He breathes in slowly and carefully, like a child making its first uncertain steps.

For the first time in eternity, he feels no pain.

He breathes in deeply.

Pain is no more.

He laughs like he has never laughed in his life, hearing it echo against the walls of a container that is his cage. He is Atlas under the weight of the world, but the burden on his back is relief, such a sweet agony to endure. He is still lying on the ground – wet, weak and _hungry_ – but it matters not at all, because he has risen from the abyss dark as the death itself and he can _breathe_ again. He can laugh and shout and scream and whisper and the world will hear all of it.

"Ups, wrong ancient vampire left to rot in the ocean. My mistake."

He hears a voice, a voice that does not dwell within his mind. It is male and he… he still cannot remember. His mind is too tired and he is _so_ , _so_ _hungry_.

"You look _absolutely_ terrible, Tristan." The voice is filled with an emotion he recognizes as amusement, drawling every word mockingly. "To be honest, seeing _you_ laugh is the scariest thing I've seen in the last few centuries."

There is a brief pause, as if the voice is waiting for a reply.

If only he had the strength to give one.

"Well, after _this_ ," The voice proceeds nonchalantly, "You'll be positively ecstatic."

He hears something land in front of him, but even before it touches the ground, he _smells_ it. Instantly, it is clear: it is food, it is drink, it is _life_.

His instincts take over and in a moment, he is biting into it, chewing, licking, swallowing. He is an animal, wild and untameable, a hunter in the dark. His mind may not remember, but his body does. And it wants – needs – _more_.

He dares to open his eyes and gaze at the world around him through his eyelashes, but the light rushes to his pupils unforgivingly, sending a wave of pain through him as if someone ran two knives through his eyes all the way to his nape. His hands grasp at his face instantly, trying to shield him from the same light he so adored a few minutes ago.

"Easy." The voice keeps mocking him, but he does not care, too occupied by licking his hands clean of it… of _blood_.

" _More_." He snarls like a beast that he is.

His demand is met by a sole chuckle, but since it is followed by the sound of something falling on the floor again, he does not bother to object. He runs his teeth into it, drinking deeply and greedily. He senses the blood spreading through his numb body and he falls into state of absolute ecstasy as his veins absorb life again.

As he savours every last drop, he begins to remember – a life that was there before the darkness.

There is only one name he wishes to utter, one face he _needs_ to see.

So much of himself he left behind, deep down in the darkness. But not _her_ – never _her_.

"Aurora…" he murmurs softly, the sound of his own voice nearly forgotten.

"Oh," the voice says in fake surprise, "You remember."

"Aurora…" he whispers again, ignoring the voice, because it is meaningless compared to _her_.

He might never be able to bear the light again, but that will not stop him. If he cannot see her, he will touch her. He will breathe in the scent of her hair. He will listen to her voice, the sound of her heartbeat next to his.

"My sister…" he struggles to speak, yet speak he must, "Where is she?"

Silence is the only answer he gets. He may not see the owner of the voice, but he can tell the man is still there. Why does he hesitate then, unless – he shivers – he does not know the answer?

"She sleeps, and waits for you to kiss her awake." The man says at last, but there is no mockery now in his voice. There is… sorrow, pain, bitterness even. "I'm sure she surpasses the fairytale version in every way."

Many a man has lost their hearts to his sister's beauty over the years, but he can think of only one who would speak of her with such bitter-sweet devotion. One who has longed for her for centuries, everlastingly pathetic in thinking she could ever love him. The only one who would be desperate enough to spend countless years searching for him in hope he might win her heart by giving her her brother back.

"Lucien." He says coldly, rising to his feet. He will not kneel before that servant-boy, no matter how exhausted he is.

He opens his eyes, slowly this time, giving them time to adjust to light again. A shadow stands at the entrance to his prison, a dark silhouette whose face he cannot yet distinguish, but he doesn't even want to. There is no loss in sparing himself the sight of victorious smirk he knows it lingers on Lucien's lips.

"You remember me as well?" Mockery returns to the other man's voice instantly. "If I had known you cared so deeply, I would have come for you a century ago."

Lucien's imprudence infuriates him, but he schools his expression into that of cold indifference. He is better than this peasant and will not fall prey to his taunting. They are not and they will never be equals. Had they not crossed paths with the Mikealson family, Lucien would have died a death of a meaningless servant, pathetic and uncared for, while Tristan would have been remembered for generations. He will not lower himself to the level of exchanging petty insults.

"Where is my sister?" he demands firmly.

"Now, Tristan, is that behaviour of a gentleman?" Now he can distinguish Lucien's features. He sighs deeply, because for a moment, he misses the blindness. "I save you from eternity of misery and pain and you can't even spare a moment to thank me?"

"I will see Aurora first." he deflects Lucien's taunts as easily as he takes a breath (now). "Everything else can wait."

Seeing Lucien's confidence melt off when he mentions Aurora's name brings him both great satisfaction and icy displeasure. The right to love her belongs to him and him alone; neither Lucien nor any other man can lay any claim on it. Her fragile heart cannot be put at risk of being broken again. He vowed a thousand years ago that he would keep it safe from harm, even against her will if need be. It is his duty to watch over her and he has been neglecting that duty for far too long. Nothing will stop him from returning to her, certainly not one servant who still hasn't learned his place.

"We both know your motives for this 'rescue' have nothing to do with me and everything to do with my sister." He says evenly when no respond comes. "It is not my gratitude that you desire."

Lucien averts his eyes from him, as if caught in a lie he thought well concealed. The other man is lost in his thoughts for a moment, looking at something no-one but him can see.

Suddenly, as if woken from a light slumber, he turns around and gestures to someone Tristan can't see to come forward.

"Come closer, love." Lucien smirks confidently, as if those few moments of insecurity never happened. "There is something I need you to do."

To Tristan's annoyance, nobody approaches. He snorts in irritation, unable to restrain himself. He has no time or patience for these games.

"Oh, come, don't be shy." Lucien calls out cheerfully, obviously not having missed his gesture of impatience and finding it amusing. "What's the worst thing that can happen? You're already dead."

In a moment or two, a young woman, blond-haired and green-eyed, enters Tristan's vision, looking at him as if he is a wild animal ready to bite (A cold smirk graces his lips at the accuracy of the comparison). She is unfamiliar to him, but he would not pay her any mind even if they had met. She is just a means to an end; a way to finally free himself from this prison where another young woman (of a not very different appearance than this one) once trapped him in. After he reunites with his sister, he will first seek her and that impudent werewolf girl out. Her parting words have proved useful indeed; she will have the chance to experience all the creative ways of torture he has come up with during his captivity on her own skin (and quite a few of them include her face).

It doesn't occur to him until he sees the girl blushing and swallowing hard at the sight of him that he is completely naked, save for his right hand where his daylight ring rests – the only thing that survived the long years of his confinement. As a vampire, he is never cold and he barely even remembers the feeling of fabric against his skin, his clothes having long since been torn apart by merciless bites of water. He has no means of covering himself, but he doesn't even feel the need to.

"Am I so unpleasant to look at?" he remarks calmly, if only to get the girl to move and do her part.

The girl looks him in the eyes and shakes her head. "No." _Quite the contrary._

Momentarily, he smirks inwardly, but remains composed as always. This girl's sentiments don't matter to him. There is only one woman whose opinion he truly values.

"Shall we move on?" The whole exchange is suddenly worth the bother if only to see Lucien frown in discontent.

He nods his agreement with an ironic smile. "By all means."

Lucien leans his hands on the girl's shoulders, urging her forward towards Tristan.

"Now, you see that medallion on the wall?" He points at the Serratura, which is still hanging on the wall unfalteringly.

The girl nods.

"You just need to remove it from the wall. Simple as that."

"Why can't any of you do it?" The girl asks in a shaking voice, struggling to stay as far away from the medallion as possible. It is no longer embarrassment, but fear that keeps her away from the container. Unfortunately for her, Lucien's body blocks her path and she's got nowhere to go but forward.

"Well, love, nothing living or dead can deactivate it." Lucien explains nonchalantly. "That's why Tristan over here," He gestures at Tristan as if they are old friends, which makes him clench his teeth, "Has spent last three hundred years diving."

 _Three hundred years._ The number knocks the breath out of his chest. Aurora has been alone for _**three hundred years**_. _How could I have failed her so?_

"It can trap any being, living or dead, within its boundaries." Lucien's voice seems as if coming from far away. "Nothing can get in or out."

The girl takes a deep, nervous breath, as if afraid that if she sets foot inside, she won't be able to leave either.

"But, you, love," Suddenly, Lucien pushes her forward fiercely. She passes right through the invisible barrier and lands on her knees before Tristan. "You are neither living nor dead."

Tristan grabs the girl's wrist and pulls her severely on her feet. He pushes her harshly towards the Serratura and takes his place right behind her, letting her feel his breath on the back of her neck. He has lost three hundred years behind these walls; he will not waste a single moment more.

"Remove it." He growls threateningly. " _Now._ "

Luckily, she is smart enough to do as bid immediately. The moment the medallion separates from the wall, the container around them shakes violently. A split of a second later, it crumbles into dust, as it would have long ago if the magic of the Serratura hadn't been keeping it in one piece.

"Wasn't so hard now, was it?" Lucien grins at the girl, who looks beyond relieved that she is still among the living (or half-living).

He pays them no mind, too focused on the sight around him. They are on a giant white cruise, high above the water. Everything about it just screams 'Lucien' – exaggerated and unsophisticated, without any taste or measure. The air smells of salt, the mild wind making it refreshing. Sun shines brightly on the cloudless azure sky, as if greeting him on his return among the living. It feels _good_ to feel its touch on his face again as he watches the sea reflect its rays, thousands of diamonds floating on the waves.

But not as good as Aurora's skin will feel against his, once he reaches her.

"Where is Aurora?" he turns to Lucien again, and notices they are now alone. "Is she alright?"

"She is perfectly fine." Lucien says reassuringly; for the reason he can't quite put his finger on, he believes him. "As for her location, she is right where you left her."

His breath catches as the realizations sinks in. Is she…

"New Orleans?" He swallows hard, feeling as if he is under water again. "She… the Mikaelsons…"

Lucien laughs openly, as if finding his concern ridiculous. He wishes to tear his heart out of his chest for that display of insolence alone, but he restrains himself, knowing if there is one person that surely knows Aurora's whereabouts, it's the man in front of him. He can't afford to waste more time apart from her. She needs him and he needs her.

"I'm sorry, you've missed so much." Lucien finally stops laughing, but when he faces him, the remains of a self-possessed grin are not lost from the corners of his lips. "The Mikaelsons are dead. Have been for the last three hundred years."

He believed himself braced for any kind of blow, but this answer catches him completely off guard. His disbelief must be obvious, because Lucien's grin widens.

"How?" He demands firmly. "And how come…"

"None of us is dead?" Lucien finishes his sentence, his eyes sparking impishly. "Well, long story short, I made sure all the sirelines were broken before I killed the Mikaelsons _one by one_."

That raises Tristan's suspicion immediately. He can believe many things, but Lucien brining about the end of the Mikaelsons? It is not _unlikely_ ; it is _absolutely impossible_.

"You don't believe me." Lucien shrugs his shoulders with childish insouciance in his posture. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"How?" He asks again, still unable to comprehend the other man's words. "The white oak was gone."

"Not all of it." Lucien smirks proudly. "It is Aurora we must thank for that strike of genius. She hid the last white oak bullet. Not enough to _kill_ all the Originals, but just enough to replicate the spell that _created_ them."

Piece by piece, he begins solving the riddle that is Lucien's revelation of the demise of the Originals.

"So, you became one of them." He acknowledges the possibility with a nod, but he is aware there are still a few missing pieces. "But how did you kill them?"

"I didn't become one of them." Lucien's eyes darken, as if the very suggestion insults him. "I became their _better_."

Tristan watches as the other man's eyes flash blood-red and his mouth spread into a line of canine teeth, sharp as blades.

He has seen and done many monstrosities in his life, but _this_ … it chills his blood. His heart starts pounding wildly against his chest, because, for the first time in his immortal life, he is _afraid_. He – who has been a predator all his mortal and immortal life – suddenly is aware that, in his absence, new predators have risen and he is rendered a prey. It is a simple, natural instinct; he senses there is more to those teeth than their strength. There is poisonous darkness in Lucien's eyes he has never seen before – or maybe it is just death – his true and ultimate death – staring back at him through those pupils black as abyss.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sharing the recipe." Lucien's face returns abruptly to its normal state, but again, there is sadness to it so deep it cannot be masked, not even by the best of performers. "Not again."

Tristan opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Lucien pays him no mind, too busy with reaching into the pocket of his jacket. When their gazes meet again, the other man is holding an envelope. He raises it to linger between them hesitatingly, as if unsure whether it is the right course of action. Tristan already has a pretty good idea what the envelope contains, but continues to stare at it wordlessly. He waits for Lucien to voice his request, even though he has no intention of acquiescing to it. He will do right by Aurora and Aurora alone and it is for her own good that letter, whatever its contents may be, never reaches her.

"Please, give her this." Lucien offers him the envelope, looking uncharacteristically… sincere.

Taken aback, he finds himself accepting it.

 _Please_ – that one word catches him completely unprepared. Lucien – the most powerful creature that walks the Earth, the destructor of the Original family – _could have_ threatened him into delivering this letter to Aurora. Instead, he _asked_.

But why? Why plead with him to deliver the letter to Aurora? He can surely do that himself and ensure that she reads it. Other questions then rise within his mind – Lucien has had years to convince Aurora of his love, without the Mikaelsons or Tristan himself in the way. And yet here he is… alone.

"Why are you giving me this?" The words burst out of his mouth before he can stop them. "How can you be certain it will reach her?"

"Well," The mocking spark returns to Lucien's eyes, as if this is but a game they play like two boys, "I believe you owe me, Tristan. Whatever my reasons were, I _did_ save you. And you and I both know how much you hate to be in debt to anyone."

He can't argue with that, but they have known and despised each other for too long for either of them to put their trust into the other. He knows there is something else behind this request of Lucien's, something he can't fathom – not until he reads the letter.

"Besides," Lucien sighs deeply, and suddenly, he looks like an old man tired of life, "She already knows most of it. It is just… the whole picture, if you will."

Tristan's gaze wanders from the letter in his hand to Lucien's face and back. For the first time in his life, he is unsure of what to do. Yes, he could throw the letter into the ocean, thus ensuring Aurora will never lay her eyes on it, honouring his promise of shielding her heart. Lucien hardly expects any different after everything that has transpired between them. Why would Lucien ask _him_ of all people to deliver his sappy declarations of love to Aurora, unless it is some kind of a plot that is will turn her against her brother?

But, if all his suspicions are true, why is the letter still lying in his hand?

He glances at it again, a desire to tear it into shreds surging through him. It would be for the best. Aurora doesn't need or want _Lucien_ ; she wants and needs her brother. It is he who shall wake her from her slumber, his will be the first face she sees after long years in the darkness. He was not given the mercy of her being the one who rescued him, but it matters not to him, because all he wants is to witness the happiness he knows he will see in her eyes when they finally open again. They don't need any distractions. They only need each other.

"I see not even three centuries under the sea have managed to teach you the meaning of a kindness." Lucien rolls his eyes, interpreting his silence as a rejection. "Very well. Here is my last offer: give that letter to Aurora and I promise you will never see me again."

"We are immortal and the world is so small." Tristan remarks ironically, but behind the mask, he is again taken aback.

Why would Lucien make such a promise? Maybe he has misjudged the strength of Lucien's affections for Aurora. Maybe he has, after thirteen centuries, finally moved on and let go of that impossible love.

"I will make sure our paths never cross again." Lucien states sombrely after a few moments of thoughtful silence, his expression unreadable. His eyes darken again, but no sign of threat or deceit comes from him. "You will finally have her all for yourself."

Tristan opens his mouth to deflect Lucien's words and implications in them, but the other man looks away from him, out towards the open sea, lost in his thoughts of – nothing comes to mind but _Aurora_ – and the words die on his lips.

"The letter is meant for her eyes only, but whether she decides to read it or share its contents with you, it will be her choice." Lucien continues to speak, but it sounds as if he is talking to himself, murmuring in a gentle tone Tristan has never heard him use. "Please, do not take that choice away from her."

Their eyes meet again. Lucien does not wait for his answer – good, because he can't tell what it would be.

"A coven and everything else you need is already waiting in New Orleans to take you to her." His voice suddenly turns all business, his expression cold and indifferent. "No-one is allowed to see her before you do."

Before Tristan can even start collecting his thoughts, let alone speak, Lucien turns around and vanishes into thin air, as if he was never there. He is left alone on the deck with the letter in his hand, trying to find words no-one is even there to hear.


	3. The Dawn Will Break the Silence

**I'm sorry if the last chapter was unclear. It was the beginning of my attempt at fixing cannon (or more acurately said, reshaping cannon to my liking, because not everyone thinks cannon needs fixing). The last chapter happens 300 years after 3x18/3x19 and in my version, Lucien didn't waste his time in 3x19 making freaking tea *eye-roll***

 **You probably noticed the change in title of this story and its chapters (inspired by lyrics of _Understanding_ by Evanescence). The old title just called for a sad, tragic ending (yeah, that's me, saying I'll write a fix-it fic with a sad ending *facepalm*). Knowing the show is surely going to give us just that, I figured I needed a happy version in my life (that's probably a spoiler, isn't it?). So, here it is. And by the way, this is officially no longer a three-shot. **

**Okay, my rambling is over now. Enjoy :)**

" _Tristan! Brother, run!"_

 _She watches helplessly as her legs carry her towards him, her fingers, which are already bathed in his blood, curled around a stake. She can feel the murderous urge rushing through her veins, the desire to kill boiling in her blood._

 _And they are not even her own._

 _The demons in her mind have taken control over her body, as she has long feared they would. She fights with everything she's got to regain it, but her efforts are in vain, because her enemies cannot be seen or heard or smelled or touched. They are invincible; it is a battle long since lost._

 _With every second, the distance between her and her brother decreases (since when is she so much stronger and faster than him?) – a sight that reminds her of their childhood, only with their parts reversed. He was always faster than her, she remembers. Why is he not now?_

 _It is not long before her legs catch up with him. He does not even turn around to look her in the eyes, as if all of his strength abandoned him. Her demons do not show mercy to the weak ones._

 _Her hand runs the stake through his back ruthlessly, right where his heart is. He falls down, dead even before his body hits the ground, blood spilling all over his clothes. Her hand grabs his hair harshly and uncaringly and turns his head around to study his face._

 _She screams in terror, but it echoes inside her mind – a cage that cannot be escaped – where nobody can hear it._

 _It is not Tristan's empty eyes that are returning her gaze._

 _It is Lucien._

She awakes again, still asleep.

She is still trapped inside her own body, cursed to spend eternity drowning in her own despair and regrets – a nightmare she can never truly wake up from. Her dreams are of suffering she has inflicted upon the one she loves the most. Her reality is loneliness that shatters her heart.

No-one has come for her. No-one ever will. Not Tristan (whose suffering surely far surpasses hers – she cannot blame him for not coming). Not Niklaus (and she used to believe she was the love of his life – what a fool she was).

Not even Lucien.

(She dreams of him almost as often as she dreams of Tristan. Why is it so?)

Maybe it is because deep down she knows (even if she refuses to admit it) that he is her only hope. He has always come for her before, without even having been asked. He saved her from the Mikaelsons – _twice_. He loves her, doesn't he? He said so. He wouldn't abandon her, would he?

 _What if he is dead?_ The thought crosses her mind for what seems to be a millionth time, each time more painful than the last one. _What if the Mikaelsons found a way to kill him?_

She told Niklaus she viewed Lucien only as a means to an end. At that moment, that was true. All that mattered was getting her brother back. After Niklaus had broken her heart, she swore the only love she would let into her heart was her love for Tristan. There would be no place for anyone else.

So why does the thought of Lucien's green eyes losing their lively spark bother – _hurt_ – her so much? Why does she care whether he is still among the living?

Maybe it is because she cannot deny that she certainly used to care.

She remembers the night of Lucien's death clearly as if it was only yesterday.

She remembers the fear she felt. Not just for Tristan.

For both of them.

For the lowly servant-boy just as much as for her own flesh and blood.

When that guard ran the spear through Lucien's back… she remembers her hands shaking in terror. Her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage as if it intended to jump out of her chest. Her sight glazed with tears. She remembers the pain she felt as the spear was run deeper into Lucien's heart, to make sure he was gone from this world. The heart that has been in her possession for a thousand years and she barely ever noticed.

 _What if he somehow found out what I said about him to Niklaus?_ It is not the first time that possibility occurs to her either – and it hurts just as much as the first one. _What if I hurt him so deeply he gladly left me to rot?_

She failed to rescue her brother. She failed to kill Niklaus – and those two ladies of his. She tore out the heart of a man who had loved her all of his life and crushed it mercilessly in her hands, the same way she ran a stake through his heart in that dream.

Maybe she deserves to live in a nightmare that is her own mind for eternity. It is only right that she suffers as well, for all the pain she brought to others. What good did she ever do while she walked among the living and undead? The world offered her so much, yet she always wanted more – until she lost everything.

"Aurora! Sister!"

Tristan. His voice is so close, as if he is standing right next to her. It is the most soothing sound to her ears, but it's been so long since she last heard it sound so _happy_. She must be dreaming – she laughs at her foolish self – she didn't even notice when she fell asleep again.

"Brother." She swallows hard suddenly, her expression turning panic. The nightmare always begins this way – in happiness. She cannot bear to see either Tristan or Lucien slayed by her hand anymore. This time, she _will_ save them from herself. "Run! Please, run!"

"I'm not going anywhere." He insists. Her sweet, brave brother. "I'll never let you out of my sight again."

"You must leave, Tristan." It is hard for her to draw a breath, fearing that, at any moment, she might again turn into a mere bystander as her hand takes his life yet again. She feels tears pouring down her cheeks, making speaking even more of a challenge, but she does not give in. "Even if you are not really here, I cannot bear to see you dead. Please, brother."

"Open your eyes, Aurora." He says softly, placing his warm hands on her shoulders. "Please, come back to me."

"Tristan, go…" She murmurs pleadingly, begging him to leave her and save himself. "I don't want to hurt you, but they will force me... Please, brother…"

"Nothing can hurt us anymore, my love." He takes one of her hands into his own, holding onto it tight even when she tries to rouse out of his grasp. "Open your eyes and see for yourself."

Tristan would never lie to her. Even in her dreams, he never lies to her.

She does as he asks and gives in to the light.

Is this death? Is life just a dream in between two awakenings?

Her worries and questions are forgotten the moment she lays her eyes on his face.

In all her years, she has never seen anything more beautiful.

"Tristan!" She jumps at him, her arms curling around his neck, his around her back and embraces him tightly like she will never let him go.

The stream of tears from her eyes is now a flood, but in her joy, she would cry an ocean. He is real, so sweetly real, palpable under her fingertips. She breathes in the scent of him, listens to his laugh as he does the same. Her skin pulses with pure and utter delight and she feels as if she could jump and take the stars off the sky.

 _I love you. If one can die of happiness, I am dead already. But I am not. I am alive. You are alive. We are alive. We are together. I love you. I love you._

"I love you." he whispers softly into her ear. "I love you."

She kisses his hair, its scent mixed with her tears. She will never let go. Never again.

"I love you." she vows, she promises, she swears.

A laugh escapes his lips; he kisses her cheek so gently, with all devotion in the world. He runs his fingers through her hair, as if he forgot what how soft it was and he wishes to remember again.

She lets him out of her embrace, only as far so she can look him in the eyes. They are still azure and full of love for her, like in her memories, but… blurred.

In a thousand years, she never saw him cry, in either happiness or sadness. Until now.

She raises her hand and wipes his tears away from his cheek tenderly, savouring the feeling of his tears on her fingertips as if they are most precious of pearls. He leans into her touch, pressing her hand closer with his, as if he wishes they could merge into one so they would never be apart again. He then brings her hand to his lips and places a kiss after a kiss upon it; on her knuckles, her palm, each of her fingers. His lips are soft and gentle; they give all and want nothing in return.

"Forgive me, brother." She whispers through her own tears. " _I_ should have come for _you_. I promised."

He stops kissing her hand and looks her in the eyes. Her plead for forgiveness means nothing to him; in his eyes, she is as innocent as an angel.

"There is nothing for me to forgive, my love." He caresses her cheek; warmth, love, devotion all on the palm of his hand, embodied in his skin. "We are together and that is all that matters."

A small laugh mixed with tears escapes her lips, because what else can she say in the face of his boundless and absolute love? Niklaus' words are not true. She is not unloved. That is her greatest revenge.

"How?" She returns Tristan's gesture and kisses his hand softly. "How is this possible? Tell me, or I might think I am dreaming again."

To her unpleasant surprise, Tristan's sapphire eyes turn dark. For a few unnervingly long moments, he looks lost, in a far away place where she cannot reach him.

Her undead heart starts beating faster, torn between worry and fear. What has come over him? Where has the light from his eyes gone to? Or maybe – her blood freezes at the thought – this is not real – _he_ is not real – because this is just another game her demons play with her. What if she has fallen into their trap yet again?

"Tristan?" she calls his name hesitatingly, not knowing which outcome scares her more.

When he does not answer, she swallows hard. Her shaking hand reaches for his face again.

When their skins touch, it is as if something shifts within him. The spark returns to his eyes and his gaze finds hers again. He lets out a deep sigh – of a man whose greatest battle ended in a shattering defeat, but who handles it with everlasting grace – and then pulls an envelope out of his jacket.

He hands her the envelope carefully, observing it the way he used to observe poisonous snakes back in their human days. She studies it curiously for a few moments and then raises her eyes to his again.

"What is it?" She inquires with barely contained interest. What does the envelope contain that it had Tristan so conflicted about delivering it?

Her brother sighs again.

"From Lucien." He says, but his voice lacks the disdainful note that is usually there when he speaks of said man.

She feels her curiosity melt off like an iceberg, fear and shame taking its place. Her breath caught, she looks at the letter again, but sees it through different eyes now. Her hands lift it slowly and turn it around as she searches for any sign of what it might entail. To her disappointment and growing uneasiness, it is just an ordinary, every-day envelope. It gives no secret away. Opening it demands courage, nerve and _care_.

"You did not open it." She observes absently.

To her surprise, Tristan takes her hand into his gently. He does not speak until their eyes meet again.

"Some choices are not mine to make." He says softly and nods in encouragement.

She nods back at him, reassuring both him and herself. She removes her hand from his gently and opens the envelope slowly, as if it might turn into dust in her hands if she doesn't handle it sensibly.

She takes a deep breath and blinks once. She can do this. She owes Lucien that much.

 _ **Dear Aurora,**_

 _ **if you are reading this, it means my task is completed and your brother is a better man than I have ever thought him to be. I wish I could leave you to enjoy your long awaited reunion with Tristan in peace, but my heart will not have it. It demands of me to be truthful with you, even if it means you will be lost to me forever. And forever is such a terribly long time, my love, even to us whom time does not touch.**_

She rereads the last sentence twice, because of two single words: _my love_. She remembers Niklaus calling her the same as he stood before her on his knees, trying to seduce her. Lucien wrote those words on a piece of paper; written down, they are so easily faked. And yet she can feel they are more real than they had been on Niklaus' lips.

 _ **The first thing you must know is that the Mikaelsons are no longer among the living. We are free of them, all of them. I am sorry I denied you your vengeance against Klaus, but at the time, all I wanted was to see him rot.**_

She can hardly fault him for using his chance to have revenge on that cursed bastard. She missed hers the day she allowed herself to be captured by two infant vampires, hybrids, whatever they were. In a way, she is glad things turned out this way, because it allowed Lucien to finally gain what he had always craved; he proved to the world (and if she is honest with herself, that includes her) that the Mikaelsons were not his betters.

 _ **Rest assured I will not use this letter to boast about that victory, if I can even call it that. Yes, I had my vengeance, but it felt empty, because you were not by my side to witness it. As I watched the Mikaelsons die, you lay in an enchanted sleep they had forced upon you.**_

 _ **Admittedly, I could have awakened you. But I did not.**_

 _ **Why, you must wonder. Had I not said my love for you was undying?**_

 _ **After a thousand years, I was still as blinded by love as I had been the day I had met you under a cherry tree at de Martel estate. I thought you could, in time, return my feelings. I hoped, against all odds and signs, that you would. My love for you was endless and one day, I thought, it would be enough.**_

 _ **But when I heard you saying you would never see me as anything more than a means to an end… I am no stranger to pain, be it physical or emotional, but the pain your confession to Klaus inflicted no words can describe. In that moment, my love for you turned into hatred equally as boundless. My war was not just against the Mikaelsons anymore. It was against also the love I felt for you and I vowed I would end it.**_

 _ **It began with breaking Rebekah and Elijah's sirelines. Thus I ensured you and Tristan would suffer forever and never reunite again.**_

It is hard to tell who she hates more at the moment; Lucien or herself.

If it were anyone else who kept her apart from Tristan, she would have no doubts. If it were anyone else but the man who both loved and hated her most in this world.

 _ **It continued with Klaus' death. His family all fell before him; I left him for the very end. Had you been present, you would not have recognized him. I ruined the face that stole your heart, I broke the body that had once made love to you. All the while, I imagined you could hear him scream. I imagined you could see him so broken and found him sickening.**_

She bits her lip, forcing the images of Lucien's words away from her mind. Until this part, she did not realize how utterly dark his heart had turned. She slaps herself mentally for her stupidity; she ought to know better than most what monsters lurk inside a broken heart.

 _ **When my revenge was done with, there was one last thing I had to do. I had to find a way to forget you, to remove you from my mind and heart forever.**_

 _ **Killing the Originals still seems like a child's play compared to this task.**_

 _ **I did try my best. I drowned my unrequited love in blood, alcohol and sex. I made enemies for sport, so I could kill them when they opposed me. The world was mine to play with, yet I often found myself wondering: what is the point of playing if one lacks a worthy opponent?**_

 _What indeed?_ She muses, imagining him in arms of an unknown woman. To her great surprise, the sight sparks blazing fury within her, making her fingers itch with desire to snap the imaginary woman's neck. As soon as she becomes aware of it, she banishes it away, not allowing herself to dwell on it for too long and returns her attention to the letter.

 _ **And all the while, a day did not go by that I did not catch myself wondering where you were and what you were doing, as if nothing had changed. Only to remember you were still asleep in New Orleans, where I had left you under the guard of Nine Covens, to make sure you would never wake up. Not without struggle, I would return to my drink then, drinking and drinking until the world went dark and my mind with it.**_

 _ **It was an empty life I was leading, my love, an existence rather than a life. I had no-one to hate and no-one to love. When you take those two away, what reason does one have to live?**_

The answer to his question – as he surely already knows – is: none.

 _ **I thought about waking you so many times. I did not know whether your presence would bring love or hatred back to my life, but it didn't really matter. All I wanted was to feel alive again and if anyone could give me that feeling, it was you.**_

 _ **But I could not bring myself to travel to New Orleans. I could not bring myself to face the disappointment I knew I would see in your eyes upon finding me in Tristan's place. Call me a coward, you would not be wrong. Had I not been one thirteen centuries ago, you would never have had crossed paths with the Mikaelsons.**_

Her sleep must have been deep indeed if three hundred years have passed by without her noticing, she thinks ironically.

But, truth be told, the passage of time is the last thing on her mind. She knows she should be angry with Lucien for having left her to suffer in her slumber and her brother under the crushing weight of the sea for so long. She ought to feel the burning desire to kill him with her own two hands.

Yet all she feels is… sadness. Sadness for her brother, sadness for herself, and mostly for the man who couldn't even hate her without loving her at the same time. It pains her to admit it, but it is a truth nonetheless; he deserves someone better than her. More than anyone she knows, _he_ deserves happiness.

 _ **The past could not be changed. I could not be changed. I did not dare meet you with my promise unfulfilled. So thus began the most conflicting task of my life; finding the man who would never let me love you, even if I somehow managed to win your heart.**_

 _ **Truthfully, most of the time it felt like it was the most stupid and most futile idea I had ever had. Tristan was still lost in the ocean; I was aware it would take decades, maybe centuries, to find him, if he was even still alive. But, driven by a madness some would call love, against every reasonable thought, I remained persistant in my search.**_

It takes a few moments for her to realize she is smiling – and crying at the same time. A few of her tears fall onto the paper – luckily, they miss the words. She sniffles and rubs her watery eyes, trying to see through the mist of tears, even though she isn't sure she wants to continue reading.

She is afraid – afraid of more words that speak of love so pure and selfless it sounds as if it has fallen out of a fairytale book. It is an agony like no other, because that love is meant for her and she knows she is not deserving of it. She is not deserving of Lucien's love, not after everything she has done to him. He deserves more than a broken girl who scarcely remembers what it is like to love.

Suddenly, she feels fingers curling around her hand.

She raises her head and meets Tristan's sapphire eyes. He doesn't say a word, yet his gaze speaks thousands. He has probably been reading the letter along with her; his curiosity and worry for her would not have left him be. He saw every word – yet the letter never left her hands.

He has dreaded the possibility of her returning Lucien's feelings for centuries, yet now he remains calm in the face of Lucien's declarations of love, because he knows what they mean to her. Maybe – just maybe – he even believes them.

And if Tristan believes them – even _accepts_ them – then who is she to hide from them?

 _ **I do not deny that there were times I wanted to give up, not only because the whole ordeal seemed absolutely pointless. I do not deny there were times I was fully inclined on waking you and telling you Tristan had died with Elijah. At last, who could have belied me? I spent many a night trying to convince myself you would believe me on my word, but I never really succeeded.**_

 _ **It took me a long time to realize the reason why I was not able to let it go.**_

 _ **I was not doing it in hope it might earn me your love, even though that would make me the happiest man in the world. The thought of your smile when you finally reunited with Tristan was what ignited a fire in my mind not even the darkest depths of ocean could put out. I came to realize my love for you was not about my happiness. It is about yours.**_

She swallows hard, feeling a sob bubbling in her throat, but does not let out a sound. There are only two sentences left and she will read them, even if her heart bursts in… something that hurts and heals her at the same time.

 _ **It seems I was your means to an end after all, to all ends that are there.**_

 _ **Even if we never meet again, I shall remain**_

 _ **eternally yours,**_

 _ **Lucien**_


	4. Screaming In Our Hearts

**Happy endings. Ah, the struggle.**

 **R.I.P. Lucien Castle. You were not nothing and you will be missed.**

"Mr Castle is not here. Return some other time."

It takes every last bit of Tristan's will-power not to roll his eyes. Or run his hand through the vampire's chest and curl his fingers around his heart.

The guard at the entrance to Lucien's villa in Los Angeles has a typical cliché look of a bar bouncer. Two heads taller than Tristan himself, giant muscular forearms covered in tattoos, black leather clothes, and a non-existent personality. His breath reeks of blood and cigarettes – he must have just taken a smoking break.

Tristan makes a step forward, even though his nostrils would rather have him back away. He ignores the smell and focuses on the guard, who has obviously come to realize he is not quivering in fear. He will not let anything stand in his way. He has come to see Lucien on Aurora's behalf and see him he will, even if he has to make his way through every member of Lucien's security staff – _literally_.

"I will wait for him until he returns." It is not in his nature to wait on those below him, but – as he constantly reminds himself – Lucien is at the top of the food chain now. An unlucky circumstance, but not insurmountable. Like the glass door that lead inside the building or the guard. " _Inside._ "

"Nobody gets inside without Mr Castle's permission." The guard crosses his arms over his chest in a rather poor attempt at looking scary.

Tristan's lips curl into a sly smirk, although he is rather furious on the inside. He made a promise to Aurora and this pathetic fool is keeping him from fulfilling it. Patience is not one of his virtues; this idiot will soon feel it on his own skin.

"I suppose Lucien would hardly have bothered to mention me," he says calmly as he buttons his suit, "But I _am_ one of the three oldest vampires in the world. You would be wise to step aside."

A spark of fear flashes in the man's brown eyes, uneasiness twisting his features. After all, a vampire's strength is measured by their age and he is barely more than an infant compared to Tristan. It is good to know his skills in the art of intimidation have not diminished over time, Tristan thinks smugly as he observes the slight twitching in the vampire's posture.

"Now, if you would be so kind…" He gestures with his hand at the door.

"I'm not allowed to let anyone in." Suddenly, the steel returns to the other man's features. More than steel actually; suddenly, he's even got the nerve to be arrogant. "Get lost."

Tristan sighs. Three hundred years have passed and the blood is still so difficult to clean off one's clothes. Well, he can always get another suit.

Before the other vampire can even catch on, his heart is already beating inside Tristan's hand, the sound of his ribs being crushed echoing the street around them. He grabs Tristan's forearm with both hands and tries to pull his hand out of his own chest, but his efforts are comically fruitless. He starts spiting blood as Tristan's hold on his heart tightens, coughing and choking on it.

"For heaven's sake, Tristan, stop killing my staff. It's rather annoying at this point."

For a moment, Tristan contemplates doing just the opposite, but concludes it would just be a waste of time. He lets go of the man's heart and turns on his heel, listening to the sound of man suffocating with no small amount of pleasure.

"The first of your servants I had asked about your location had the cheek to lie to me." He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his hand clean of blood. "Since looking for him wasted too much of my time, I realized it would be much easier to kill the others the moment they share the information, be it true or false."

"Still, it's annoying." Lucien makes his way past the guard, who is still half-rolling on the ground like a child, and unlocks the door by having his eye and hand scanned. When the door is open, his gaze returns to Tristan's face. "I guess whatever reason brought you here is best discussed in private?"

"Yes." He nods sombrely.

Without another word, Lucien gestures to him to follow him inside.

They walk through a number of rooms filled with many young men and women with pierced necks, some alive, some dead. Quite a few ladies (those who still possess a heartbeat) smile at Lucien as they pass by and some even extend the curtsey to Tristan – not that he cares. Only one smile in this world matters and he is on a mission to lure it out.

Soon, they enter what appears to be Lucien's office. The sun is the only source of light, but since there is a balcony is on the southern side, there is more than enough of it to behold every detail in the room. The furniture – a desk and three chairs, one behind, two in front of it, shelves, cabinets – are made of the most expensive ebony, black as starless night. Three giant screens hang on the wall across the glass door that leads to the balcony, currently empty.

"So, here I am now." Lucien's voice interrupts Tristan's inspection. He turns to the other vampire, who is already busy pouring them two glasses of wine. "What can I do for you that I haven't already done?"

He offers one of the wineglasses to Tristan, who (rather unwillingly) accepts it. It is still to his dismay that he now must speak to Lucien as to an equal, not to mention that he has to stoop so low as to ask a favour from him.

 _For Aurora._ He has long lost count of how many times he has repeated those words to himself. _For Aurora._

"You know perfectly well why I am here." He takes a gulp of wine. Not as bad as he expected.

Lucien grins ironically, watching him over the edge of his glass.

"Enlighten me."

Tristan clenches his teeth, fighting the urge to crush the glass in his hand.

He knew this would happen when he decided to seek Lucien out, but he convinced himself he would withstand every mockery, every taunt Lucien might send his way. He knew the other man would take great pleasure in making him ask for help. It is the perfect revenge for all the times Tristan had been cruel to him back in their human days and also the final conformation that they are now equals.

If the circumstances were different, Tristan would rather die than give him the pleasure.

But they are not. He must swallow his pride and do what needs to be done. _For Aurora._

"I ask you to speak to her." He takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on Lucien's. He will not repeat himself. "Please."

There is only a momentary flash of satisfaction in Lucien's eyes, far less than Tristan would have anticipated. He expected the other vampire to openly gloat, but Lucien turns his back to him and focuses on pouring more wine into his glass.

"I promised you that you would never see me again." Lucien's tone is neutral. Unable to see his face, Tristan can't tell what the other man is thinking. "I fully intended to keep my promise, but you insisted on making me break it."

Their eyes meet again.

"Why?"

Tristan makes a step forward, determined not to give Lucien another chance to hide his thoughts from him. He still doubts him – he can't help himself. He needs to know what lies within Lucien's mind before… before whatever needs to happen happens.

"I gave her the letter. And then we both read it."

Lucien tries his best to appear calm, but it is obvious Tristan's words have struck a chord. He cannot hide the sound of his heart pounding wildly from Tristan's ears. In a split second, he downs the wine to the last drop and starts fiddling with the wineglass in his hand, staring at it as if it is the most fascinating thing his eyes have ever beheld.

Tristan moves to stand next to the other vampire and rigidly puts his own glass on the desk. This conversation is hardly any easier for him. He still loathes Lucien, absolutely. He still thinks him beneath himself and Aurora. He still believes his is the only love his sister needs.

But his sentiments do not matter.

Aurora was not the only one affected by that cursed letter. Some of its words have stuck with him as well; a line that he knows by heart.

 _I came to realize my love for you was not about my happiness. It is about yours._

Tristan's love used to be about protecting Aurora. And while it was a noble cause, it was also selfish. He kept her away from the world, confined and alone, to wait for him until he found the time to visit. Yes, he told himself it was for her own good, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy the knowledge his visits were the only source of joy in her life. He liked that didn't have to share her love with anyone.

But, while that kind of life suited _him_ perfectly, it made Aurora unhappy. He turned a blind eye countless times, pretended he didn't see it. She was safe and that was all that mattered. All the things he did were out of love – or so he made himself believe.

Then came the war with the Mikaelsons – war he lost and they both paid the price.

He had three hundred years to face all his regrets. They all began and ended with Aurora's happiness – all the times he had sacrificed it, all the times he had taken it away. He thought he would never get the chance to atone for his crimes against her – and there were so many.

Lucien – knowingly or not – gave him that chance. In return, Tristan delivered the letter – unread, unopened. It held the secret it had taken three hundred years for both of them to understand – their love for Aurora is about _her_ happiness.

Lucien did his part by reuniting her with her brother. As much as it makes his blood burn with desire to snap something, Tristan is fully determined to do his. He will give her the chance to answer Lucien's letter in person, whatever her answer may be. He dreads one particular outcome more than anything else, but if she so chooses, he will not stand in her way. If he had any intention of doing that, he wouldn't be here.

"She's been searching for you ever since." He continues when no answer comes. "With your very efficient network of spies, I doubt you are unaware of that."

Lucien nods, placing his glass on the table next to Tristan's.

"Yes, I know she has been looking for me." He finally looks at him again. "But I made sure our paths didn't cross."

Tristan is just about to loudly express his bewilderment at this statement when he notices the tinniest shift in Lucien's features. A brief sigh, a shadow passing through the green eyes. It takes only a moment for him to figure out what it is (at last, it is a feeling he himself often inspired in those around him) – _fear_.

"You fear her answer." _You fear her heart._

"Of course I do, a pathetic fool that I am." Lucien's mouth spread into a bitter smile. He shrugs his shoulders ironically, his eyes glazed. "Laugh at me if you will. Only an idiot would hold onto something that has never even been there."

To his own great surprise, Tristan cannot bring himself to gloat or mock the man in front of him. To the old Tristan de Martel, a demonstration of superiority over Lucien would have been an instinct. He would have been cruel, simply because the chance was there to be taken.

But the old Tristan de Martel died in the cold embrace of the ocean. The new Tristan de Martel, though hardly a kind and modest man, is not as blind (intentionally or otherwise) as his old self was. When he looks at the man in front of him now, he sees – the same mere servant-boy he used to see – but also the man who has loved Aurora for centuries despite everything; her demons, her betrayals. He sees how deeply Lucien's feelings for Aurora actually reach, to the very core of Lucien's being. His love for her is – not quite, but _almost_ – as deep and unbreakable as Tristan's.

In Tristan's mind, no man will ever be good enough for Aurora, but as suitors go, Lucien is, after all this time… _very close_.

"Go to her."

The words linger tensely between them, like a bomb moments away from detonation. Lucien does not answer, but his silence speaks a thousand words.

"I release you from your promise." Tristan says with all the steel he can muster. "Go to her."

Lucien stares at him with his eyes and mouth wide open in absolute disbelief.

"I thought you wanted…"

"What _I_ want doesn't matter." Tristan cuts him off. "This is not about what I want."

"Tristan…"

"Go, before I change my mind."

He rushes out of the room, past Lucien's 'friends', past the guard at the door, past people on the street. He has no idea where he is going, but his destination is of no concern to him. He feels oddly free, as if a great burden has been lifted off his shoulders. Deep down, he knows what it is, even if he is afraid to admit it.

It is a certainty that he has bested his pride, his prejudices against Lucien and his selfishness. He has put Aurora's happiness before his own.

The thought makes him smile, truly _smile_. He can't deny it feels like heaven.

* * *

 _Cherries are red, the skies are blue._

 _If you don't find me, will I ever find you?_

The rhyme plays on her lips, bounces around her thoughts, but she never lets out a sound. What point would there be to it, if no-one is there to hear it?

Locks of her hair swing slowly in the rhythm of breeze around her face. The scent of cherries caresses her nostrils, so strong she can almost feel the taste on her lips. If her dress was a little longer, her shoes more comfortable and Tristan was sitting next to her, she could almost believe she was _home_.

A long time ago, de Martel estate _was_ her home. Her sanctuary, her safe haven, her cage, her hell – all in one. The only place where she knew true happiness. The place that last saw her as a human. The place where her demons were born. The place where she met her curse – the Mikaelsons.

The place where she first met Lucien – right under this very tree – in what seems like another life.

The last place on Earth where he could possibly be – but she has already looked everywhere else.

If she is honest with herself, she knows there is no hope left. He made his peace with her when he saved Tristan. Why would he want to reopen old wounds? Why would he risk being infected by feelings again, after everything she has put him through during their immortal lives? She can't blame him for keeping his distance. Deep down she knows she doesn't deserve his forgiveness. But she also knows she can't stop searching for it. _Her_ heart will not have it.

Is this what his love for her has felt like all this time?

Does this mean…

"Hello, Aurora."

She freezes; her breath catches; her undead heart skips a beat.

Suddenly, she is on her feet and she doesn't even remember standing up. Like a flower raising its head towards the sun, attracted by a force it cannot understand or explain, her gaze finds his and it feels as if time stands still.

He is the same as she remembers him – yet different in every way. To her surprise, he is dressed in jeans and casual blue shirt, as if he is just an ordinary man out for a short walk. His brown hair is longer than she remembers, a few locks falling lazily down his forehead. Then her eyes fall onto his face – the only thing time can never change. His eyes are green, with a touch of silver in them – and then she looks away.

She cannot bear to look him in the eyes – she is not worthy of it. She is so pathetic and inadequate, so empty and laughable. She has been preparing herself for this moment for so long, carefully planning her explanations, her excuses, but it is all in vain. He came to tell her it was too late and she would never gain what she sought from him.

Her lips are dead and numb, the words ashes on her tongue.

She must say something – what can she say?

If she doesn't say something, he will leave and never come back.

She doesn't think her heart would survive that.

* * *

"How are you?"

It would be an understatement of the millennia to say her greeting words didn't catch him off guard. He expected… he does not really know himself what he expected, but 'How are you?' were definitely not the words he thought he would hear upon their reunion. They are… so ordinary, but so… strange and yet so familiar at the same time. To his relief, it seems that choice of words took Aurora by surprise as well, because she looks just as confused and anxious as he feels.

"I am…" _Fine? Excellent? Better now that I see you? Delighted to see you?_ "Good."

"I…" Her struggle to speak is just as real as his. "I am glad to hear it, Lucien."

His name on her lips – it makes his blood sing, his skin tingle.

Her words are sincere, if her brief glance at him through her eyelashes is anything to go by. He has borne that face in his mind for centuries; every expression, genuine and false ones. He knows them by heart, like a song, like a verse.

He takes a moment to study the object of his sweetest dreams and darkest nightmares – or rather, he can't help himself but to do it.

She is wearing a lovely dress whose colour dances between white and yellow depending on the light. It hugs her curves in all the right places, leaving her calves, collarbone and arms exposed to the sun. The locks of her long hair dance with the wind, shielding her face from his gaze. Her eyes hold the summer in them; a sunny day filled with laughter.

She is even more beautiful than in his memories; what hope is there, that he might leave this place with his heart unscathed?

"I heard you were looking for me." He tries his best to sound casual, but he is sure his heart betrays him. "So here I am."

"Yes." She nods, a sigh pressing heavily upon her chest. "Here you are."

His heart is a pile of broken glass inside his ribcage. It is as he has feared; she came to tell him that, no matter what he did or said, she would always find his love _insufficient_ , _lacking_ – insulting even. The moment Tristan – _Tristan_ , who has hated the thought of him since the moment they met as a master and a servant – suggested he should go meet her, he should have known. He should have known his love would be rejected again, for reasons completely irrelevant. It seems that, if there is something that indeed lasts always and forever, it is his stupid hope that maybe – perhaps – finally – after all these years – his love would be enough and his feelings returned. What a fool he was – still is.

He swallows hard and opens his mouth, intending to ask her not to delay the inevitable, but words burst out of her mouth first, making him forget what he was about to say.

"How did they die?"

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts, each and every one of them blurry in pain. She is asking about the Mikaelsons, of course. About her eternally beloved Niklaus, whatever his crimes against her may have been.

He will gladly retell her every monstrosity he did to the bastard, in hope the sights of blood spilt, bones broken, skin torn will haunt her at night. If he is condemned to live in a never-ending nightmare, why should she be free of it?

"Divided and conquered." He forces a sly smirk on his face to hide the pain within. "Remember Klaus' little friend Cami?"

To his surprise, when he gazes into Aurora's eyes, green like two emeralds, there is no anger, no jealousy flashing in them. The only sparks he finds is… guilt.

"Yes." She nods. "What of her?"

"I bit her." He explains shortly, fighting not to think about the thoughts that hide under those red locks. If he did that, he might start hoping. And if he starts hoping… _he is lost_. "And because of Klaus' fondness of her, all the Mikaelsons rushed out of their hideout like sheep, trying to find a cure."

There is only the slightest twitch of Aurora's eyebrows as she puts the pieces together. There is still no sign of the fury that used to erupt like a volcano whenever someone mentioned Cami's name, with consequences almost as catastrophic. _Strange._

"Which there is none." Aurora nods again, seemingly unaware of his conflicted thoughts about her calm demeanour.

"Still, it served its purpose." He shrugs his shoulders, deciding not to dwell on the possibility Aurora doesn't care about Cami's fate _because she doesn't care about Klaus' fate_. "I followed Elijah and Klaus' baby mama to the bayou. I snapped Elijah's neck and tore the heart out of the wolf-girl's chest. Then I took Elijah to the witches and…"

His voice betrays him and so do his eyes as they look away from hers. That is how it started, the three centuries of loneliness and emptiness. With the greatest betrayal he had ever committed, against the only woman he had loved.

"They broke his sireline." Aurora finishes the sentence for him.

His head snaps back towards her before he can stop himself. He looks for anger, for pain, for revenge, but he finds none in her features, as there have been none in her voice.

Why isn't she angry? Why doesn't she hate him? He robbed her brother of relief death could have brought him. He intended to condemn her to eternal suffering apart from Tristan. She should hate the very sight of him.

"What happened then?"

She is still standing at his side, looking at him like a curious child, sweet in its innocence. He remembers that innocence from days long lost, at these very grounds. Even against his will, it lures a smile to his face, even if the smile is sad and bitter.

"I killed Elijah." He says evenly. The second oldest Mikaelson more than anyone deserved to rot in oblivion. "In return for freeing them from their link to him, the Strix were so kind as to deliver me Rebekah. I just repeated the same process."

Aurora takes a deep breath, like an excited reader who knows the best – or the worst – part of the story is yet to come. She remains silent, though, waiting patiently for him to continue.

So he does (Can't he even deny her wordless requests?).

"When Camille died, I expected Klaus would lash out at me, but he did not." In a sudden strike of inspiration, he decides to push his luck. What does he have to lose? "Maybe he didn't love her as deeply as we had thought he did."

"He was a Mikaelson." Aurora says with icy sneer in her voice. "He loved _who_ it suited him, _when_ it suited him."

He would voice his agreement, but she doesn't let him. Ice in her eyes melts off as she looks at his hand and then reaches for it, her movements uncharacteristically hesitant. Her eyes then return to his and before he can even take a breath, he feels her skin against his.

He waits for her to change her mind and shy away, but the moment never comes. When their eyes meet, she looks… _relieved_ , as if she expected the same of him.

"When I asked you how they had died, I…" She swallows hard, glancing away momentarily (at his right hand trapped between both of hers), but then raises her head to him again. "I didn't ask because I care. Whatever you did to them, it was well deserved. I…" She breathes in deeply, and he feels her hold on his hand tighten. "What I _actually_ wanted to ask you, but I couldn't find the words, is… about the letter."

She doesn't need to explain what letter she thinks of.

"What of it?" He asks breathlessly, hoping his voice won't break. Not now, not in front of her.

He must stay strong; because she is already broken.

"How…" She squeezes his hand again, seemingly unaware of the gesture. He barely even notices it, all of his attention focused on her lovely eyes. Filled with tears. "How could you still love me so, after everything I had done to you?"

Before he knows what he is doing, his hand cups her cheek, trying to stop the tears from falling. Her skin is warm under his fingertips, so very similar to how it felt in his imagination, only ultimately more _real_.

His heart jumps into his throat when, instead of shoving it away, she puts her hand over his and presses it closer to her face.

"You deserve _better_." She utters the last word bitterly. "I am unworthy of your love. I have proved that more than once over the course of centuries."

Instinctively, he leans forward. Their foreheads press against one another and he can feel their breaths mixing, her scent filling his nostrils.

"And what is it worth to me, when I can't stop loving you?" A small laugh escapes his lips, somewhere in between cynical and joyful. "I would kill anything and anyone who hurt you, but I cannot kill my love for you."

She backs away slightly, so she can look him in the eyes. She releases his hand that is pressed against her face, but keeps the other one in her grasp. He lets go of her cheek, giving her a moment to wipe the tears away and collect her thoughts. His heart beats like a drum in anticipation, so loudly he is certain the entire world can hear it.

"Aurora." It is really unnecessary to say her name at this point since her gaze is already captivating his, but he never gets tired of its sound on his lips. Besides, if her answer to his letter matches his worst fears, this might be the last time he will have uttered it.

There is something poetic about teary eyes of a beautiful woman – perhaps the delicateness of her sorrow or the diamonds that are her tears?

"When I wrote that letter, I didn't want to make you feel indebted to me in any way." He takes a deep breath, knowing his words might be the one last push she needs to leave him behind for good. Still, he promised himself he would do right by her and he is a man of his word, so he continues firmly. "All I want is for you to be happy, even if it far away from me."

His breath catches when she places _her_ hand on _his_ cheek, their roles now reversed. Instantly, he is taken back thirteen centuries ago, waking from the deepest slumber of his life (apart from death, of course) by the feeling of her knuckles against his face. He fights the glorious temptation to just close his eyes and lose himself in her soft, tender touches, keeping his gaze fixed on her green irises.

"In your letter, you wrote your love for me was not about your happiness, but about mine." The most loving of smiles spreads across her face – what a strong effect those words must have had on her. "Tell me then, if I had the means and the greatest desire to make _you_ happy, what would that make me?"

 _Is she… No, it can't be… But, what if…_

A realization occurs to him and he laughs from the heart, blinking away tears that have suddenly appeared in his eyes.

"We are thirteen hundred years old," He explains in amusement when he notices her raised eyebrows, "And yet we still can't explain what love is."

Aurora's laugh joins in with his. It is a symphony to his ears, one he would gladly listen to for eternity.

It seems that, after thirteen long centuries, Aurora's sentiments are just the same as his.

"I know I would love to find out." Her fingertips brush against the corner of his lips. "If you will help me."

He brings her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on her knuckles, stealing a breath of her skin's scent before his eyes find hers again.

If this is a dream, he will gladly sleep for eternity. And if this is real, he will spend his life devoted to one thing:

"Whatever makes my lady happy."

 **Taa-daa. This is the end of the happy version (for the Trinity, not so much for the Mikaelsons. It depends on the point of view, I guess). I'm sorry if the characters were a bit OOC, but dammit, they got a happy ending, they are allowed to be OOC. Thank you all for reviewing, following, faving and reading and enjoy the finale :)**


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